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BOOKS 

BY KATHERINE M. YATES 


“ CHET.” With six illustrations. 12 mo, 
cloth, 75 cents. 

WHAT THE PINE TREE HEARD. 
Boards, 50 cents. 

THE GREY STORY BOOK. Octavo, boards, 
net 50 cents. 

ON THE WAY THERE. Octavo, boards, 
net 50 cents. 

AT THE DOOR. Octavo, boards, net 50 
cents. 

THROUGH THE WOODS. Octavo, boards, 
net 50 cents. 

BY THE WAYSIDE. Octavo, boards, net 
SO cents. 

CHEERY AND THE CHUM. Octavo, cloth, 
colored illustrations, net 50 cents. 

ALONG THE TRAIL. Octavo, boards, net 
so cents. 

ANY TIME. Envelope series, net 2S cents. 

FROM CELL TO SUNLIGHT. Envelope 
series, net 2S cents. 

THE QUESTIONS OF MY FRIEND. En- 
velope series, net 2S cents. 

UP THE SUNBEAMS. Octavo, boards, so 
cents. 


DAVIS & BOND 
PUBLISHERS 
BOSTON 



A book hath more of the reader than of the 
writer between its covers. See that thou dost 
find good within thy books. 



UP THE SUNBEAMS 
In which Marjorie learns how to see folks 
they really are, and why she should 
‘‘judge not” 


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Copyright, 1916, by 
KATHERINE M. YATES 



♦> 

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JUL -8 1916 

©CI.A433G55 



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THREE RUTHS, WHOM 
I LOVE 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


oh, oh, dear!” exclaimed Marjorie, 
and she struggled awake and sat up, 
breathing hard and rubbing her eyes 

rapidly. 

''What’s the matter ?” asked the Dream, who 
sat on the footboard as usual, swinging his feet. 

"Oh, it was the horridest nightmare!” and 
Marjorie shuddered. "Just about the worst 
one that I ever had.” 

"Was it worse than the time that the tea-cup 
chased you ?” 

"Oh, yes, it was. A million times worse.” 

"It must have been a beauty,” said the 
Dream. "What was it all about?” 

Marjorie brushed her hair back and blinked 
her eyes a good many times, looking about 
rather anxiously. "I wish I could see some- 
body,” she said. 

"Well, here am I,” said the Dream, point- 


2 UP. THE SUNBEAMS 

ing a small brown finger at his breast and 
grinning. 

^'But you won’t do,” said Marjorie. ‘^You 
always look just any way that you happen to, 
and I want to see somebody real and see her 
look pleasant things at me, so that I will know 
that the nightmare is gone.” 

‘Well, tell me about it, and we’ll see whether 
it is gone or not.” 

Marjorie folded her hands and began. 
“Well, you see, I thought that I was in a beauti- 
ful valley — oh, the most beautiful valley in the 
whole world — and there were big shady trees, 
and a little stream with waterfalls, and great 
boulders that the water splashed around, and 
flowers growing everywhere; and there were 
people all about, some of them working and 
some of them sitting in the shade and talking 
or reading, and the children were having the 
happiest time, romping about and wading or 
reading or making pretty things with their 
fingers. But the loveliest part was that the 
people were all beautiful — oh, the most beauti- 
ful people that I ever saw.” 

“How?” asked the Dream. “What were 
they like?” 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


3 


Marjorie thought for a moment. ‘Well/’ 
she said, ‘T don’t know that I can describe any 
of them; I don’t seem to remember what sort 
of hair or forms or clothes they had, — it didn’t 
seem to be that. I guess that it was the smile 
back of their eyes, and their voices, and the 
gentle, strong way that they did things. Any- 
way, I thought that I had never seen such 
lovely people ; and everything that they did was 
kind ; whether they worked together or played 
together or only sat by themselves, you just 
felt the kindness and the helpfulness and the 
lovingness of them.” 

“What an awful nightmare !” commented the 
Dream. 

“Wait,” said Marjorie, “I haven’t got to the 
awful part yet. While I was standing there 
watching them and loving them, a man came 
up behind me — ^he didn’t come from among 
them — and when I turned around and saw him, 
it made me jump, he looked so different. At 
first I didn’t know what made him so different ; 
but after a moment I saw it was his spectacles. 
They were such ugly spectacles !” 

“How were they ugly?” 

“Why,” said Marjorie, “I don’t know; but 


4 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


they just seemed hateful and sarcastic and self- 
ish ; and seemed to draw his mouth and wrinkle 
his forehead and to give his whole face a sort 
of critical and ill-natured expression. I turned 
away right off, but he came around in front of 
me and smiled with his crooked mouth and he 
said: T’m going to give you a present.’ 

‘‘ T don’t want it,’ I said. I didn’t want any- 
thing that such a man would have. 

‘Yes,’ he said, T’m going to give you some 
glasses like mine,’ and before I could do a thing, 
he had clapped a pair of them right over my 
eyes and slipped the string that was on them 
down over my hair. 

‘T was so angry that I didn’t know what to 
say and I reached up to take them off; but just 
then I happened to glance over the valley, and 
oh, it was dreadful! All of those beautiful 
people had become ugly. The smile had gone 
from their eyes, their foreheads were puckered, 
and their mouths looked hard and unkind; 
everything that they did was jerky and fretful. 
They looked at each other as if there wasn’t 
room enough in the valley for them all, and each 
one wanted all of the rest to get out ; and they 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


5 


all looked suspicious and put away the things 
that they cared for, for fear that some one 
would take them ; and the children stopped play- 
ing together and divided off into little groups 
and began fussing among themselves. 

‘'At first I couldn't understand it, and just 
stood staring at them and wondering how any- 
thing so awful could happen so suddenly; and 
all at once I happened to think that it must be 
my spectacles that was the matter and not the 
people at all, because they had all come to look 
exactly like the spectacles that the man wore. 
I was so glad that I laughed right out and 
reached up to take the glasses off ; but the string 
had caught in my hair and I couldn't get it 
loose. I tried and tried and it got tangled 
worse and worse all the time and pulled my hair 
dreadfully. I turned around to ask the man 
to help me, but he was gone. I kept on work- 
ing and tugging, and once I got one side lifted 
a little, so that I could catch a glimpse of the 
valley, and I saw that I was right, — that the 
trouble was all with the glasses ; for the people 
were just as lovely and sweet and kind as they 
were before; and then I tried harder than ever 


6 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


to get the miserable spectacles off ; but they fell 
back tighter over my eyes and I couldn’t loosen 
them anyway I tried. 

‘‘And after that I went pretty nearly crazy. 
I thought that I would have to wear those 
dreadful things forever and ever, and I 
couldn’t break them and I couldn’t tear them 
off, and I struggled and struggled and — and 
then I waked up.” 

‘Whew!” said the Dream. “That was a 
pretty tough one 1” 

“It certainly was,” said Marjorie. “What 
made you bring me anything like that? You 
must have known all about it before I told you.” 

The Dream looked at her with his head on 
one side and his mouth pursed up. “Well,” he 
said, “it wasn’t pleasant; but sometimes folks 
learn things from experiences that are not ex- 
actly pleasant.” 

“But can’t they learn just as well from pleas- 
ant ones?” 

“Perhaps they can, but it isn’t always that 
they will.” 

“Well, what did I learn from that?” 

“How do I know ?” 

Marjorie sat still and mought. “I suppose,” 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


7 

she said slowly, ‘'that I should have learned that 
the things on the other side of the spectacles are 
not always just the same as they look from our 
side.” 

“Good guess,” said the Dream. 

“But what do the spectacles stand for?” 

The Dream grinned. “Did you ever look 
through a skew-gee window-pane?” he asked. 

Marjorie laughed. “Indeed I have,” she 
said. “There was one pane in Grandma’s sit- 
ting-room window that made people coming up 
the street look as if their feet grew out of their 
chins, if you got your head in the right place, 
and when they got nearer, their faces would be 
all wriggly. I used to sit there and giggle, it 
was so funny.” 

“Did you worry any about the poor people 
with their feet growing out of their chins, or 
with the wriggly faces?” 

“No,” Marjorie laughed. “I knew that it 
was just the window-pane that made them look 
that way.” 

“And what was the matter with the window- 
pane ?” 

“Why, Grandma said that it was very old 
glass, made before the people here knew how to 


8 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


make the clear, true glass; and she said that 
sometimes careless work still made that kind. 
She didn’t like it. She said she liked to see 
her friends look as they really were, and that 
her window had no right to spoil them, even in 
her own eyes. She didn’t think it was as funny 
as I did. Why, even the old watch-dog looked 
like the most awful beast, through that pane; 
and one kiddie that saw it screamed herself sick, 
she was so frightened; she couldn’t be made to 
look at the real dog, she was so sure that she 
was going to be eaten up. Grandma had the 
pane taken out after a while, and a big new 
glass put into the sash. She said it was bad 
enough to look out and see other folks that 
way; but suppose some of them should come 
and look in and see her through the same pane.” 

‘Well?” said the Dream. 

“Oh, I guess I begin to see,” said Marjorie. 
“Wait a minute. The spectacles were bad, 
crooked glass and weren’t true, and so — ^but 
even if they were bad glass, and I knew it, I 
couldn’t get them off. I tried and tried, but 
they were tangled in my hair, and the string 
wouldn’t break, and I couldn’t lift them up. 
What could I have done?” 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


9 


‘Well/’ said the Dream, ‘T think that if I 
had been in your place, and had caught the 
little glimpse that assured me that the people 
really were lovely, and that it was all in the 
glasses, I think that I would have — ” 

‘What?” exclaimed Marjorie, eagerly. 

“Just simply looked a hole through those 
glasses. You knew what was on the other 
side ; and if you had looked hard enough, know- 
ing that, you’d have had them punctured in no 
time.” 

“Oh, dear!” said Marjorie, “and so I did all 
of that struggling for nothing. And just think 
how I would have looked to those lovely people 
if they had seen me with them on — ^just the 
way the dreadful man looked to me. But how 
was I to know that I could look a hole through 
them?” 

“Because you knew what the truth was, and 
that what you saw wasn’t the truth. You can 
always look a hole through anything that isn’t 
the truth, if you only look hard enough.” 

Marjorie sat and thought again. “Then,” 
she said, “the spectacles meant that we some- 
times get bad, wriggly mental glass in front of 
our eyes ; and then it is up to us to look a hole 


lo :UE THE SUNBEAMS 

througH it and see folks as they really are. 
But how are we to know how they really are?’’ 

‘Xook at those sunbeams,” said the Dream. 

Marjorie glanced about her and found that 
she was sitting under a great apple-tree on the 
side of a hill ; a little way below her lay a pretty, 
brown road, and a little pathway ran in and out 
among the apple-trees, passed close in front of 
her, and then twisted away along the roadside. 
Just as she looked up, two little children came 
down the path carrying a big tin pail between 
them. They looked poor and tired, and as they 
came close, Marjorie saw that the pail was full 
of wild strawberries, beautiful, big ones, and a 
little whiff of wind brought the delicious fra- 
grance to her. 

Marjorie’s mouth watered. She reached 
into her pocket to find if there were money 
there; but there was none, and she shrugged 
her shoulders and glanced toward the Dream 
with a funny little helpless grimace; but the 
Dream paid no attention. 

Just then the children set down the pail to 
rest, and looking about, they saw Marjorie, who 
smiled and nodded to them. One of them had a 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


II 


little crescent of pink color in one cheek as if 
an apple-blossom petal had fallen there. She 
looked at Marjorie for a moment, bent over 
the pail and carefully selected several large 
sprays of the berries which grew on such long 
stems that the cluster looked almost like a bou- 
quet. Then she came toward Marjorie hold- 
ing them out. 

''But I have no money,’’ said Marjorie. 

"Oh, I don’t want money,” said the little girl. 
"I just wanted to give them to you.” 

Marjorie took them and patted the little 
girl’s hand, lovingly. "Why did you want to 
give them to me. Dearie?” she asked. 

The child looked at her earnestly, and shook 
her head. "I don’t know. I guess it was just 
because your eyes kissed my cheek.” 

Marjorie laughed, and with her finger 
touched the little pink crescent. "I did just 
love it,” she said, "but I didn’t know the love 
showed through.” 

"It did,” said the little girl, nodding seriously, 
"and I’m not nearly so tired as I was.” 

"What are you going to do with the berries ?” 
asked Marjorie. 


12 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


^^Mother is going to take them to town and 
sell them. We are trying to save money 
enough to buy back the cow.” 

Again Marjorie put her hand in her pocket, 
but there was nothing there. ‘^Oh, how I wish 
I could help you,” she said. 

“You have helped me,” said the little girl. 
“There was a great big lump in my throat and 
now it is all gone. I think you loved it all 
away. Now I’m going. Good-by.” 

Marjorie watched her go back to the other 
child, and together they took up the pail again 
and walked down the path toward the road. 

“She is a dear little girl, isn’t she?” said Mar- 
jorie to the Dream, who was stretched out flat 
on the top of a boulder, with his chin on his 
hands. 

“Yes,” said the Dream, following her with 
his eyes, “and — ” 

“Oh, look!” interrupted Marjorie excitedlv. 
“Look there!” 

The children had gone quite a little way down 
the road, when suddenly out of a gate by the 
wayside ran a big, rough-looking man. He 
rushed up to the children, said something, 
snatched the pail of strawberries out of their 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


13 


hands, and ran back into the yard with it and 
out of their sight among the shrubbery in the 
garden. 

The children stared, open mouthed, after him 
for a moment, and then the little girl threw 
herself on the grass by the roadside and began 
to cry bitterly, and the little boy bent over her, 
trying to comfort her. 

^^Oh, how shameful, how shameful!’’ cried 
Marjorie, starting to her feet. ‘^How could he 
do a thing like that?” 

The Dream lay still with his chin on his 
hands. Marjorie looked at him angrily. 
‘‘How can you lie there and kick your heels to- 
gether, when anything like that is going on?” 

“It does no good to get angry and hate the 
man,” said the Dream easily. 

“But I’m going to do something. I’m not 
going to stand — Oh, dear, now where have 
the children gone? I didn’t see, did you? 
And I can’t even be sure out of which gate the 
man came. Oh, dear, I can’t do a thing after 
all.” 

“No,” said the Dream, “all you can do is to 
hate the man.” 

Marjorie looked at him sharply. “How 


14 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


can I help hating him she said. ‘'Don’t you 
hate him ?” 

“No. I don’t even know what made him 
do it.” 

“But you could see why he did it. He 
wanted the strawberries.” 

“He didn’t tell me that he wanted the straw- 
berries.” 

“Well, any one with half an eye could see 
that.” 

“Yes, people with half an eye often see more 
than people with two whole eyes. Lots of 
folks spend most of their time looking at 
things with half an eye or on the bias, when 
they are neither half-of-one-eyed nor cross- 
eyed.” 

“Well, I don’t care,” said Marjorie, “that 
man ought to be hated.” 

“All right,” said the Dream; “go ahead 
with your hating; — it’s your loss.” 

“My loss?” said Marjorie. But just then a 
woman came down the pathway and Marjorie 
turned to look at her. She was carrying a 
large bundle, and a little child lagged behind 
her, wearily. 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 15 

Marjorie jumped up. ‘Uet me carry the 
bundle down to the road for you,” she said. 

''Oh, it’s too heavy for you,” said the 
woman. 

"Indeed it isn’t,” said Marjorie. "Just let 
me take it and you take the kiddie’s hand for 
a little way,” and Marjorie shouldered the 
bundle and started down the path. 

"How good you are,” said the woman, 
stretching her arms and sighing with relief. 
"You see, I’ve carried it for more than a mile; 
but I thought that if I could just get down to 
the road with it, perhaps some one would give 
us a lift and then we’d be all right.” 

When they reached the road, the woman 
sat down on the grass, wearily ; but she smiled 
up at Marjorie. "Now,” she said, "I am quite 
sure that we shall get along nicely, if some one 
only comes along with some sort of a team.” 

"There comes some one, now,” cried Mar- 
jorie; for down the road came a large comfort- 
able carriage drawn by a fine, high-stepping 
bay horse and driven by a well-dressed man 
who had the whole vehicle to himself. 

The woman got up quickly and took her 


i6 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


bundle into her arms, called the child and went 
to the side of the road, standing close and look- 
ing eagerly at the on-coming carriage. As it 
drew near, she put up her hand with a motion 
of humble inquiry. 

But the man never drew rein. As he passed 
he said something hastily, which they could 
not understand, and kept on his way, scarcely 
glancing at them. 

‘‘How selfish!'’ cried Marjorie, indignantly, 
and the child began to sob. 

The woman turned silently back to the road- 
side; and sitting down, she took the child into 
her arms and began soothing it gently. It was 
not an attractive child, — not pretty nor bright, 
— but it was clean, and had a very sweet little 
smile when one spoke to it. 

Marjorie sat gloomily watching them. 

“What’s the matter ?” asked the Dream, who 
had followed them and was swinging on a 
blackberry vine beside her. 

“I don’t like people,” said Marjorie. 
“What makes them act like that? What’s the 
use of being so selfish and so unkind ? I can’t 
like them. I won’t like them.” 

“You are hating that man, too, are you?” 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


17 


‘‘Yes, I am. He ought to be hated. He 
could see that the woman was tired, and see her 
big bundle, and the tired kiddie. I just 
hope — ’’ 

‘‘Be real careful what you ‘just hope,’ ” said 
the Dream. 

“Well, I can’t help it,” said Marjorie. “It 
fairly makes me boil. Perhaps there won’t be 
another carriage by here for hours.” 

Here the woman looked up dispiritedly. “I 
think we would better be going on,” she said, 
gently wakening the little child whose head lay 
heavily against her shoulder. “If another 
team comes while we are on the road, perhaps 
it will pick us up ; but I don’t dare to wait any 
longer.” She rose up, took her bundle, and 
turned toward the road. “Oh, dear !” she ex- 
claimed, “here comes an automobile; but of 
course it is headed in the wrong direction. 
Isn’t that hard luck?” 

The car came on rapidly, and when it reached 
the little group it stopped and a woman leaned 
out. “How far are you going?” she asked. 
She was a cold-looking, fashionably dressed 
woman and her voice was hard and rather un- 
gracious. 


i8 UP THE SUNBEAMS 

‘"Oh, Em going a long way — more than three 
miles/’ said the woman with the bundle, 
shaking her head with a little sorry smile. 

The cold-looking woman stepped out of the 
car and motioned to the others to get in. 
‘Take them wherever they wish to go,” she 
said to the chauffeur, “and come back and pick 
me up along the road here, somewhere.” 

The tired woman attempted to protest, but 
the other merely motioned her toward the car 
and turned away. 

The little girl had been standing looking with 
big, unbelieving eyes from the car to the 
woman. Her face had become almost beauti- 
ful in its eager, wondering delight; and sud- 
denly, as her mother turned to lift her into the 
car, she broke away and ran after the woman, 
catching hold of her dress. “Oh, please,” she 
cried, breathlessly, “please may I kiss you?” 

The woman turned and looked down at her, 
then her head lifted higher and her lips grew 
tight and thin. “No,” she said, quietly, and 
walked on. 

The child dropped her hand and turned 
away, her eyes looking hurt and frightened and 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 19 

her lips trembling, as she walked slowly back 
and climbed into the car. 

Marjorie waved her hand to them as they 
drove away, and then turned and stood looking 
after the woman, her eyes narrow and her chin 
hard. 

‘‘You don’t look happy,” said the Dream. 

“Pm not,” said Marjorie. “What makes 
people act that way? What makes them? 
Does she think that she will get any good out of 
a kindness done in such a spirit as that? Do 
you suppose that she does ?” 

“Perhaps she didn’t do it for any good that 
she would get out of it. Perhaps she did it be- 
cause the woman looked tired.” 

“No, she didn’t. Any one who would do a 
thing that way, and who wouldn’t kiss a clean 
little child just because it wasn’t pretty and 
rich, hasn’t one bit of heart. She just did it 
because she was superstitious and thought that 
by doing something for somebody, she would 
get something in return. That’s all she did it 
for.” 

“Something of a mind-reader, aren’t you?” 
said the Dream. 


20 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


‘'Well, I can read that much, anyway.” 

“But still you don’t feel real happy.” 

“Of course I don’t feel happy when I am 
hating people ; but how can I help hating them 
when they do things like that ?” 

The two were climbing the path, back to the 
apple-tree on the hillside. When they reached 
it, Marjorie sat down and took her chin on her 
hands and sat gloomily gazing out over the 
valley. 

“Do you like you ?” asked the Dream, pres- 
ently. 

“No,” said Marjorie, “I don’t. The people 
are so dreadful, and so cruel and so unkind that 
I can’t help not liking them; and the more I 
don’t like them, the more and more I don’t like 
me.” 

“Hard luck !” said the Dream. 

“But what shall I do?” asked Marjorie. 
“I’ve got to like me. It’s bad enough not to 
like other folks; but I’ve got to live with me 
for an awfully long time; and if I get the habit 
of not liking me, it — it will be dreadful.” 

“Yes,” said the Dream, “that would be very 
dreadful.” 

“But what shall I do ?” asked Marjorie again. 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


21 


^Tt’s your problem/^ said the Dream. 

‘T know — you think I ought not to hate them ; 
but I can’t see how I can help it when they do 
such dreadful things. I can’t see — ” 

‘^No,” said the Dream, ‘^it seems that you 
can’t. You don’t seem to have long-range 
eyes — or long-range ears — or a long-range 
mind. You are focused right up close to you, 
all the time.” 

Marjorie sat and looked at him. ‘‘You 
mean — ” 

“I mean that you don’t get any perspective. 
You look at things right up close and don’t stop 
to think of the things they may be related to, 
away off before or behind that particular in- 
stant. You don’t know why people do things, 
— you can’t know; but just the same, you try 
them and condemn them and hate them and 
yourself, and make everything just as hard as 
possible for everybody.” 

Marjorie sat up very straight. “I don’t 
think that’s fair,” she said. “You know that 
I try to help whenever I can, and I don’t try to 
make it hard for anybody; but I just can’t see 
the reason — ” 

“Do you have to see a reason? When you 


22 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


don’t know anything about it, isn’t it just as 
easy to assume that there is a reason, as that 
there is not?” 

‘‘But,” cried Marjorie, “what reason could 
there possibly be for that man to steal the ber- 
ries from those poor little children ? How can 
I assume that he had a reason ?” 

The Dream looked at her with a little 
grimace. “Well, I said that you had not long- 
range eyes — nor ears — nor mind; but I’ll lend 
you some for fifteen minutes and let you go 
reason-hunting; and I’ll turn the clock back a 
little so that you can go after the particular ones 
that you want. There, do you see the little 
folks with the berries ?” 

“Yes,” said Marjorie, “and there comes the 
man to take them away. Oh, I don’t want to 
see that again !” 

“Wait,” said the Dream. 

“ph,” said Marjorie, “I can see better now 
that I am so close. Why — why, that house is 
afire! Oh, look! That is what he took the 
berries for; he poured them out on the grass 
just as carefully, even if he was in such a hurry ; 
and he filled the pail with water and climbed up 
on the roof beside the chimney. My ! but there 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


23 


is a lot of smoke ! Oh, I don't see how he can 
stand it ! There, he has come down for 
another pailful. There doesn't seem to be any- 
body at home and the house is all locked up so 
he couldn't get in for anything to carry water. 
See, there come the children. Oh, it's their 
own house and their mother is away; that is 
why they were crying so. 

‘^There, I believe he's got it out now. My ! 
but he's all smoked up, and I guess he burned 
his hand ; but he got it put out — he put it out all 
by himself! Isn't he splendid!" Marjorie 
was leaning forward and looking eagerly. 

'‘And you don’t hate him ?" said the Dream, 
quietly. 

Marjorie looked at him, her eyes full of 
tears. "Just think," she said, 'T’ve been 
hating him for hours !" 

"Yes," said the Dream, "you have." 

"But I didn’t know — I couldn’t know." 

"But you assumed to know enough to make 
you hate him." 

"It was I who was dreadful," said Marjorie 
in an awed voice. 

"Look down the road and see another rea- 
son," said the Dream. 


24 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


Marjorie looked, and saw the man with the 
bay horse, sitting straight and holding the 
reins taut as he was when he had passed them. 
And then, while she was looking, the horse 
suddenly laid back his ears, thrust his head 
forward with a twist and a jerk, and bolted. 
The man sat tight, drawing on the reins with 
all his strength. The carriage swayed and 
swerved and rocked; but he never faltered, 
never loosened his grip, never took his eyes 
from the maddened animal. 

Marjorie leaned forward, gasping. ^^Oh,’’ 
she cried, ‘'how dreadful. The horse is run- 
ning away! He can’t hold him — I know he 
can’t.” 

But the man did, and gradually he brought 
him down under control again, and Marjorie 
sat back and breathed easily once more. 

“It’s too bad that the woman and the little 
girl weren’t in there then, isn’t it?” said the 
Dream. 

“But,” said Marjorie, “he couldn’t have 
known that the horse was going to run away.” 

“Look again,” said the Dream. 

Marjorie did. The horse was about to pass 
a group of children by the side of the road. 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


25 


when one of them tossed a bit of paper into the 
air. Off went the horse, to one side, swerving 
the carriage almost into the ditch, and then 
bolting again. 

'WhewT’ said Marjorie, looking after them. 
‘That is a great horse to drive. He’d shy at 
a canary-bird. He must be just broken. 
There, the man has him under control again. 
Isn’t he a wonderful driver? He hasn’t used 
the whip once; he merely holds him hard and 
talks to him until he quiets down.” 

“Too bad such a fine man should have been 
so unkind to the tired woman,” said the 
Dream, whimsically. 

Marjorie bit her lip. “Yes,” she said, “he’s 
another that I hated, and yet he was doing just 
the very best that he knew how.” 

“You certainly have wasted a lot of hatred 
to-day, haven’t you?” said the Dream. 

But Marjorie was looking away, farther up 
the road. 

“Looking for another reason?” asked the 
Dream. 

“Yes,” said Marjorie, soberly. “I see the 
cold-hearted woman walking up the road. 
She’s — she’s crying.” 


26 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 

Just then the woman stopped and turned 
aside from the road and threw herself on the 
grass under a tree, burying her face in her 
hands and sobbing heavily — great, dragging 
sobs; and Marjorie heard her gasping, over 
and over again, 'T wasn’t good enough to kiss 
her. Oh, I wasn’t good enough — I wasn’t 
good enough !” 

Marjorie turned away her head. ‘"Oh,” she 
said, '^how dreadful — ^how dreadful I am.” 

The Dream sat looking at her thoughtfully 
for a few moments. ''Look at those sun- 
beams,” he said at last. 

Marjorie heaved a sigh and looked about. 
The apple-tree beneath which she was sitting 
was in full bloom, and the sunbeams came 
flickering down through the leaves and the pink 
and white blossoms, dancing all about over the 
grass and the pink and white fallen petals. 
"Oh,” she said, "how beautiful! And don’t 
the apple blossoms smell good 1 Don’t you love 
them?” 

"Yes,” said the Dream, "they are beautiful 
and they are good; and they are working to 
make themselves something worth while — not 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


27 

just to be pretty apple blossoms. That is one 
reason we love them so much.” 

Marjorie took some of the petals in her 
hands and touched them softly with her finger- 
tips. ^'Once,” she said, ^'we had an apple-tree 
that used to have double blossoms on it — on 
just one branch. They were quite big and 
very double, — all fluffy ruffles. They were 
pretty, but somehow we didn’t love them as we 
did the others; we used to pick them just for 
curiosities; but some way they didn’t seem to 
have the character that the sweet, open-hearted, 
single ones did.” 

''Did they bring forth apples?” asked the 
Dream. 

Marjorie shook her head, soberly. "No, 
they were nothing but petals.” 

"And do they still come double?” 

Again Marjorie shook her head. "No, the 
branch withered. Father said that he didn’t 
care, because it took the strength of the tree 
without producing anything in return. I 
think I understand better now than I did then.” 

The Dream nodded. "You understand that 
those who are not workers in some way, who 


28 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


have no goal, they have no place; they cannot 
even keep themselves as they are, or grow into 
something better and bigger until they begin to 
work, or at least are willing to work; for the 
work is exhaled from themselves for them to 
do ; but if they are all fluffy ruffles — well, they 
can’t gather up the scattered petals and be 
fluffy ruffles again ; but they will have to search 
within themselves to find the ^makings’ of 
something worth while, if they are to have a 
place and a part that is worthy of the name.” 

Marjorie looked at the Dream curiously. 
^'Sometimes you are very old,” she said, '^and 
say things that I can reach only by standing my 
mind on tiptoe ; and sometimes you are just a — 
a kid.” 

The Dream grinned. ^7^st like everybody 
else,” he said. ‘Tolks sometimes think things 
that they themselves can understand only by 
standing their minds on tiptoe. And some- 
times it scares them and they hide their eyes 
and run away. When you get startled by 
thinking something that seems too big for you, 
the best thing to do is to walk up and look at it 
pretty closely ; for it is almost sure to lead you 
into big company; and the fact that it has come 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


29 


is a certain proof that you are ready for it and 
its kind, if you keep your head and don’t run 
away.” 

Marjorie nodded seriously. 

^‘Now take a look at those sunbeams,” said 
the Dream for the third time. ^They answer 
a question that you asked me a while ago.” 

‘What was the question? WeVe talked 
about so many things.” 

“You asked how you are to know what 
people themselves really are.” 

Marjorie sat looking at the sunbeams earn- 
estly, as they danced and flickered all about. 
Some swung across the grass and apple-blossom 
petals, some slid back and forth on broad dock 
leaves, some rested upon a great, rough, gray 
boulder, and some lay upon the smooth path 
before the apple-tree. “They are curious,” she 
said, at last. “They are all of different shapes 
and sizes and colors. Those that lie on the 
path have smooth, clear outlines and plain, 
quiet colors; those on the grass and apple- 
blossom petals are all uneven, running in 
streamers up and down the grass blades and 
showing pink through the petals ; those on the 
rock are rough and gray and have sharp. 


30 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


ragged edges and look torn where the rock is 
broken and crumbling; that one over there, on 
that clump of dandelions, is laughing back at 
itself and is the happiest thing in the whole 
world; those on the dock leaves just slide and 
slide and keep on sliding; and there is a little 
bit of a one over there, apart from the rest, sit- 
ting still on a toadstool, just as if it thought 
that it was the only thing anywhere, and that 
nothing else mattered.” 

“Each one is different, isn’t it?” said the 
Dream. 

“Just as different as can be. There aren’t 
two of them the least bit alike, and they keep 
all the time changing, too. Some of them you 
can scarcely keep track of at all, they flicker 
from one thing to another so fast, — all except 
the one on the toadstool.” 

“And some of them you like better than the 
others ?” 

Marjorie laughed. “Why, of course I do, 
only I wouldn’t have thought of putting it that 
way. I love the one on the dandelions. It is 
happy and good and cheery and gentle, and 
laughs right back into the soul of itself. I 
could just hug that one, and when it makes me 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


31 


laugh, it is the kind of a laugh that I love to 
feel coming, because it is all sweet. The ones 
on the path are sort of prim and not so interest- 
ing; and the ones on the grass and pink petals 
are dear, jolly ones, but they do fight sometimes, 
and get into awful squabbles, pull each other’s 
hair, and then dance apart and throw kisses. 
I don’t like the sliding ones very well. They 
are so kind of smooth and unconcerned. 
Things have to be alive to you, for you to love 
them, — not just sliding. Some of the ones on 
the rock I like; some of them are ugly, and 
frown and look hard-souled and cruel; some 
are just stern and severe, but you can see that 
they are kind and don’t mean to be hard — just 
happened to come that way. The little one 
over on the toadstool is horrid. I don’t like her 
at all.” 

'They are a good deal like people, after all, 
aren’t they ?” said the Dream. 

Marjorie nodded. "Ever so much, when you 
come to examine them.” 

"Perhaps you have noticed,” said the Dream, 
"that it is the face of each one that touches the 
grass and the rocks and the flowers. The self 
of it stretches down from — somewhere.” 


32 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


''Yes/’ said Marjorie. Then she laughed. 
"You’d think they’d rub their noses off, 
wouldn’t you?” 

The Dream laughed, too. "They would if 
there were friction,” he said; "but they know 
how not to let the rocks and roughnesses be real 
enough to them to rub ; and so they save their 
noses and their dispositions. Now go over 
there to that one sitting on the toadstool — the 
one that you don’t like — and put your face down 
close to her, right where her face is resting, and 
look up.” 

Marjorie did, and for a moment her face 
shone out with the glory of the sun. Then she 
stood up, her hands over her eyes, but not all of 
the glory gone out of her face. 

"What did you see?” asked the Dream. 

Marjorie took down her hands and her eyes 
were full of wonder from within. "I looked 
straight into the sun,” she said, in a low, awed 
voice. "I — I think I begin to understand.” 

The Dream watched her as she looked from 
one sunbeam to another, the ones that she had 
criticised and the ones that she had loved. 

Suddenly she swept out her hands. "Every 
one of them,” she cried, "every one of them, if 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


33 


you look up the very self of it, you look straight 
into the sun — you are dazzled with the glory of 
it. It doesn’t matter what they rest on, and 
look ugly or ragged or silly or hard, or how 
beautiful and tender and laughing, — that is 
only because of what they happen for the mo- 
ment to rest on; but every one of them comes 
straight from the sun and isn’t the least bit 
separated from it; and when you know that, 
why — why you know that the edges and the 
colors and the movements haven’t really any- 
thing to do with them at all — aren’t any part of 
them; and — and then you love them all; you 
can’t help it, they are so wonderful.” 

Still the Dream sat watching her. ‘^Oh, 
you needn’t think it’s just sunbeams that I 
mean,” she cried. 'T see what you meant by 
the sunbeams answering the question, and that 
is why it is so glorious. Every one of them — 
every one of the people that I don’t love, and 
every one of them that I do, if I could just look 
back through the self of them, the way that I 
looked back through the self of the sunbeam, I 
would be dazzled a million times more, I’d see 
the glory that their life is in and is never sepa- 
rated from; and I’d love them — oh. I’d love 


34 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


them with divine love that shines down through 
me and makes me one with them all/’ 

The Dream turned away his face for a mo- 
ment. Then he turned back and his eyes 
looked misty. 'T guess I was looking up a sun- 
beam/’ he said, ^^and I was dazzled.” 

Marjorie sat down again under the apple- 
tree. ‘T want to think for a little while,” she 
said. 'This must be one of those thoughts 
that I would better walk up to and examine.” 

After a while she heaved a little sigh and 
looked up. 'T wish I could stay there all the 
time,” she said. 

"Where?” asked the Dream. 

"Where I can see things right. If I am like 
a sunbeam, I ought to know that even my own 
rough edges and ugly sides aren’t real, and I 
ought to look back up the self of me, to where 
I really live, and act the way that it belongs to 
me to act; but I know just as well as can be 
that as soon as I see folks again, I shall begin 
seeing their rough edges and dullnesses, and 
feeling my own. What can I do about it?” 

"You can remember and try,” said the 
Dream. "Since you know the truth, you can 
just keep everlastingly using it. Shove it in 


UP THE SUNBEAMS 


35 


the face of every lie that you see; jam it down 
the throat of every lie that you hear, but do it 
inside of yourself first, last, and all the time. 
It is your own glasses that need a hole looked 
through them ; don’t worry about other people’s 
spectacles unless they want you to. It may be 
that it’s only your own glasses that make them 
look as if they wore them, too. All I have to 
say is. Remember and Try.” 

'T WILL,” said Marjorie. 


THE END 









